


Small, In Every Sense Of The Word

by thehotinpsychotic



Category: Gerard Way - Fandom, MCR - Fandom, Mikey Way - Fandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anorexia, Bullying, Eating Disorder, High School, High School AU, Mental Disorder, School, anorexia tw, eating disorder tw, mental disorder tw, school au, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:22:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehotinpsychotic/pseuds/thehotinpsychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard has always been the misfit at his school. He can admit that he's carrying a little bit of extra weight, but not enough for him to be classified as overweight. Noticing his insecurity, all of the kids at his school use it against them to the point that he makes a drastic decision to finally fit in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

School is not exactly my forte. I mean, I do really well at the whole academic part and all, but it’s just the making, and keeping, of friends that I can’t seem to grasp. I guess you could call me eccentric, but kids at my school just call me “freak”. This and “wide load” are two of the main insults that they use against me. I don’t think I’m very fat; a little chubby, sure, with pudgy baby cheeks and admittedly, some love handles. I never really thought I had to do anything about it, really.   
Mikey is my baby brother. He’s just this scrawny little guy with fawn hair and horn rimmed glasses that without, he’d be crawling around on the floor shrieking for help. He wears a lot of skinny jeans, since he can actually pull them off, unlike yours truly, and has quite the collection of band and horror movie tees, much like his older brother.   
I sigh and stare at the clock, which sits on its spot on my nightstand. Ugh, I have school tomorrow. No thank you. Sorry, but I don’t exactly look forward to being berated by boys in the locker room and rejected by girls who I don’t even like in the first place. I wish I could change schools, especially since this one really persistent boy named Aaron has decided to make me his target. But I know that Mikey is a little social butterfly, what with his cute cheerleader girlfriend and his prime role on the soccer team who is, by the way, undefeated. I mean, the kid’s an eighth grader for Christ sake’s, and he got into the homecoming dance because he’s dating a freshman. Meanwhile, I’m a junior who didn’t go to the homecoming dance because I don’t have any friends and wouldn’t have a nice time anyways.  
At lunch the next day, when I’m sitting alone at my usual table next to the hoodrats, a girl comes up to me. I have a crush on her; she’s really pretty with her black hair and nose ring. She strides over giggling, and informs,  
“I don’t like you, Gerard. You’re gross and weird.”  
With a flip of her hair she’s gone, leaving me in tears. I push through the lunch room, heading to the bathroom. On my way there I’m stopped by Aaron, who shoves me back.  
“Aw are you crying, Way? What’s the matter?” he mocks.  
“Fuck you, Aaron,” I spit.   
He knees me in the gut and then pushes me back onto my ass, growling,   
“I’d watch that disgusting dog mouth of yours if I were you.”   
“I’m not in the mood,” I mutter.  
Aaron picks me up by my shirt and gets in close. “Well that’s too damn bad.”  
With that, he pins me against a wall, my back to him. He reaches into my pants and closes his hand around my Batman boxer briefs, yanking them upwards into my ass.  
I cry out, flailing my arms uselessly at my sides. He actually raises me off of the ground by my underwear, then dropping me. I fall onto my stomach hard, and roll over onto my back, moaning in pain.  
He walks over, placing his Wiley Coyote foot on my chest so I can’t move. “Luckily for you, porker, I wasn’t in the mood either. Next time, your head’s going on a stake, alright? Now why don’t you go and cry just like the little girl you are.”  
He kicks me in the side as he walks away. I lay on the ground for a moment in pain, scrambling to get up. The bell rings as I begin my walk, so I change directions to instead go to P.E., my next period, and in other words, a living Hell.  
As I change, a boy named Trendon walks over. He reaches around, gripping onto the small pudge of my belly and twisting it, exclaiming,  
“Jesus Christ, Way, you’re a fat fuck!”  
I shove him off, quickly pulling on a shirt. The boys all laugh and stare at me, pointing as I leave for the gym, stomping angrily.  
P.E. is horrible as usual. I. Cannot. Run. All of the kids jeer at me as they watch me struggle to run the beginning five laps that are required. The P.E. teacher, Mr. Wood, barks at them to be quiet, but only once. I think even he knows that he can’t make them stop.  
We all line up to pick teams, and standing next to me is that bitch from lunch. My stomach does flips and my throat closes in absolute terror as I stand next to her, avoiding eye contact the best that I can. When Mr. Wood’s numbering everybody off, Trendon sneaks up behind me and pulls my shorts down, stepping on them so I can’t pull them back up. I desperately try to shove his foot off of my shorts, but he holds firm, and kids are looking now.   
“Woah, thunder thighs!” Trendon laughs.  
All of the kids begin laughing so loud that Mr. Wood finally looks over.  
“Trendon! That’s two laps! Go!”  
Trendon grins as he releases his foot, running off to do his punishment. I yank my shorts back onto my hips, my face beat red. I can tell its red because I feel as though I’m on the surface of the fucking sun.  
When I get home that day, I stand in front of the mirror, naked, examining my body. I’m… I’m not fat. I pinch the sides of my flap on my belly, then letting it go. I stare at myself for at least five minutes, and the longer I look, the worse it gets. That night, I vow that I’ll stop eating, starting tomorrow, until I lose ten pounds. I would run or something like that, but hello, I’m not going to be caught dead running outside of gym class. Besides, it’s just ten measly pounds, which I can afford to lose. That night I go to bed feeling a lot better than I did twenty minutes ago.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard finds ways to be sneaky about his disorder.

That morning, I sit down at the table to finish my homework. My mom places a plate of toast and scrambled eggs in front of me, saying,  
“Eat up.”  
She walks back over to the stove, probably making some for Mikey. I pat my leg, motioning for our dog, Ranger, to come over. He’s a Beagle, and he makes his way over taking his sweet damn time. I make kissy faces at him as I tear up my toast, passing scraps to him. I wipe my hands off on my pants, peanut butter from the bread smeared all over them. I let Ranger lick one of my palms as I gather a forkful of scrambled eggs, offering them to Ranger. He sniffs it, then sticks his wet little nose in. He yanks it out, then eats the entire forkful. I grab my plate, scraping the rest of the food onto the floor. He gobbles it up, and I quickly grab my now empty plate and bring it over to the dishwasher.   
Mikey comes down the steps, shirtless and wearing my Wolverine pajama pants. He’s stumbling, his glasses off, to the table. He squints his way over to the table and begins pushing forkfuls of eggs into his mouth.   
I go up to my room, finishing my homework within fifteen minutes. I go into Mikey’s room without knocking, to see him standing in front of the mirror fixing his hair.  
“Mikey…” I whine impatiently.   
“One minute,” Mikey insists, straightening a stray lock. He takes eyeliner from his drawer and carefully and slowly applies it.  
I hang in the doorway, watching him warily. “I don’t get why you wear that shit.”  
Mikey’s shrugs and puts the eyeliner back into its spot in the drawer, turning to me and smearing it with his pointer fingers. “Some people actually care about their appearance, Gerard.”  
“You’re a dick,” I mutter. I go down to my car, not caring if I leave Mikey behind anymore.   
He trots down behind me, tossing his bag over his shoulder as he heads out the door.   
On the way to Mikey’s middle school, he asks me,  
“I heard that Trendon called you fat.”  
I sigh, remembering him grabbing my stomach. “Yeah, what else is new?”  
“Gerard,” Mikey begins. “I’m saying this because I care about you. But… maybe if you lost some weight kids would leave you-”  
I stomp on my breaks. I glare at Mikey furiously, growling, “Get out.”  
Mikey looks scared and hops out of the car, grabbing his bag out just in time for me to reach across the car and slam the door in his face. I speed off towards my school, my tires squealing loudly against the pavement as I leave my baby brother to walk the last two blocks to school.  
When I get to the school, a lot of the kids in the hall look at me funny. They probably heard about yesterday. As of now, I could really care less. All I can think about is how I can avoid lunch.   
I decide that I’m going to go to the library and do homework or draw rather than go to lunch. I know that no one will probably even notice I’m gone. I go in the polar opposite direction of hoards of kids when the lunch bell rings, going upstairs to the library.   
Only one other kid is there, this one boy with black hair and brown eyes named Pete. The only thing I know about him is that when he was ordered to give a presentation in front of the class, he had a panic attack and had to go to the nurse.   
I plop myself down in a seat, taking out my sketch book and drawing a character map for this superhero I’m working on. As I work, I completely zone out of reality, not noticing anything but my hand and the pencil. When I’m satisfied with my picture, I snap out of it, to see a girl sitting next to me.   
She’s this petite thing with curly brown hair and braces. She smiles at me, and compliments, “That’s a really good drawing.”  
I can feel myself sweating bullets. “Th-thanks.”  
“My name’s Cassie. What’s yours?” she questions. She takes the sketch book without even asking, holding it close to her face to examine the picture closer.  
“G-Gerard,” I respond.   
“Do you have a stutter, Gerard, or are you nervous?” she asks bluntly, her green eyes still fixed on my drawing.   
“Nervous,” I confide. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but girls don’t really talk to me.”  
“Why not?” she asks. She scooches closer to me. “I think you’re damn adorable.” She pinches my cheeks. “Just look at these fluffy chipmunk cheeks.”  
I blush, pulling away from her touch. “That’s actually one of the reasons. I’m kind of fat.”  
She cocks her head. Her eyes go to my stomach, to my eyes, then back to my stomach. I self-consciously suck my gut in. “You’re not fat.”  
“Go tell that to them,” I mumble. I take the sketchbook back, tossing it into my bag.   
“You’re bitter,” she informs. She grabs my hand. “I like that.”  
I squirm out of her grasp, getting up and tripping over my own feet as I stand. “I-I gotta go.”  
I leave, heading straight towards the lunch room. But not to eat. To sit there the entire period, trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with that girl.  
I get home that night, and at supper, I just cut my food over and over. I spread it around, and even shove a couple of spoonfulls down into my briefs when my family’s not looking.   
I go into the bathroom straight after, first dumping out the food from my underwear. I strip myself naked and weigh myself. 162. I hurry to my room, grabbing a notebook and writing down the date. Beneath it, I write 162. I’ll weigh myself every two days, and record my weight each time. I already lost two pounds. At this rate, I’ll lose ten in no time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment.
> 
> follow my writing blog- www.jordan-delyn-writes.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard gets to the point where he can't deal with his hunger.

Over the next few days, I lose a total of six pounds. That girl Cassie doesn’t talk to me much anymore, but I could really care less. I do see her looking over at me quite a bit though, but I’ve decided not to mind it.   
I’m walking down the halls when Aaron stops me. He glares at me and asks,  
“Why aren’t you at lunch anymore?”   
I act surprised and lie, “I go home to eat lunch now. School’s food sucks anyways.”  
He shoves me and accuses, “That’s a damn lie. You’ve been skipping it. Why?”  
“I- no I haven’t!” I protest.   
“Yeah, you have,” he barks. He shoves me, demanding, “Tell me the truth!”  
I push past him, sprinting up the steps. He glances over his shoulder at me, deciding I’m not worth it, and doesn’t bother to chase after me. I stop at the top of the steps, doubled over and panting. See, this is why I can’t run to lose weight.  
When I get home that night, I lie to my mother, telling her that my stomach has been upset all day and I’m not in the mood for eating. She makes me go lay down in my room. I settle in with my Star Wars duvet and a comic, when someone raps their knuckles on my door.  
“Who is it?” I snap, slamming down my comic. Not eating has made me a bit irritable, I’ve noticed. I can’t help but be pissed. Like all the time.   
Mikey enters slowly, his hair darkened and stringy from sweat. He must’ve just gotten out of soccer practice. He looks at me warily, straightening his glasses nervously.  
“What do you want, Mikes?” I ask.  
He sits on the end of my bed, taking the comic and holding it in his lap, probably to assure that I’ll listen to him. I have to admit, if he hadn’t taken it, I probably would’ve been reading it right now instead of listening to him.  
“Gerard, I’m worried,” Mikey informs. He bites his lip, looks down. He then looks me in the eyes and questions, “Are you skipping meals because of me? Because I didn’t mean it. You don’t have to lose weight.”  
I sigh, digging my hands in my hair. “Mikey, you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone.”  
Mikey begins to tear up. He removes his glasses to wipes his eyes, replacing them just as more tears well up. “I don’t think I can do that.”  
I sit up and take his hand, promising, “Look, it’s just until I lose ten pounds. Ten little pounds. Now, I can afford to lose that. I’m what, like twenty overweight? Don’t worry, Mikey. I’ve already lost six. At this rate, I’ll be eating again in about three days.”  
Mikey sniffles, and slowly leaves the room, his heels dragging lazily against the carpet.   
That night, I can’t sleep; my stomach is overwhelmed with crippling hunger pangs. It’s so bad that I can’t move, and I lay on my bed, contorted and clutching my stomach, actually crying from pain for the first time in at least a decade.   
I tediously make my way down the steps, each step digging a knife further into my gut. I make it to the kitchen, finding whatever I can. All I know is that I have to eat something. Just one thing. Then nothing else, for as long as I can last. Until I lose those ten pounds.   
I grab a head of lettuce out of the fridge, hungry enough to eat part of it plain, tearing off chunks straight from the head with my teeth. I replace it back to the fridge, wiping my hands off on my jeans. I immediately run upstairs to the bathroom, stripping off my clothes and weighing myself.   
159\.   
I crumple to my knees, bawling. I can’t believe I let this happen, can’t believe I was so weak. I gave in and ate, only after a mere four days, and I gained a pound already. I… I failed. I pull myself to my feet and look at myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess, my eyes swollen and scarlet from crying. I stare at my stomach, which, while it’s not how I want it to look, it is considerably smaller than it was four days ago. It’s a bit flatter, for sure. That’s when I tell myself, this won’t happen again. After I lose those ten pounds… I’ll… I’ll eat every three days. That way, I’m still losing weight, but my hunger pangs never get so bad again.   
But ten days… that’s five more pounds to go. I lost six in three days without eating, so I guess I’ll just have to tough it out again.   
That night, as inspiration, I go onto Google images, searching up “skinny people”. I find a picture of a man with his ribcage horribly sticking out, his hipbones rising out of his skin, and his collarbones protruding. He looks amazing. I print out the picture and stick it under my mattress so I can look at it whenever I’m about to give in and eat. That way, I can remind myself of what I want to be. Who I want to be.  
I whisper, “I want to be pretty.”   
I write that on the photograph before sticking it under my mattress, just in case I do something stupid like trying to eat. I sleep much easier after that, knowing that soon, I can be just like him.  
The next day at school, I decide to actually go to lunch. But instead of eating, I get a water and sit there, sketching. More people are looking at me than usual, and the girl I had a crush on that shot me down comes up to me and asks,  
“Why… why haven’t you been eating?”  
I don’t look up from my sketch book as I reply, “Isn’t this what you want?”  
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her worried expression. Good, bitch, be worried. But it’s too late now. I’m already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment!
> 
> Follow my writing blog- www.jordan-delyn-writes.tumblr.com  
> Follow my drawing blog- www.jordan-delyn-draws.tumblr.com  
> Follow my normal blog- www.these-ghouls-will-scare-me.tumblr.com
> 
> Send fanart, asks, and prompts to my normal blog please!


	4. Hit So Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The seriousness of Gerard's situation finally hits him.

I did it! I’m down to 154 pounds! But… I stare at my reflection in the mirror, grabbing at the extra skin on my stomach. It’s not quite enough though. I decide that I’ll have a salad for supper (so my parents stop worrying about me) every two days until I lose fifteen more pounds. No I’ll… I’ll still be fat then. I have to get down to 120. That’s a healthy weight. That’s 34 more pounds to lose… I better eat only every three days.  
At school, I begin skipping lunch all together again, going to the library instead and drawing. I’ve noticed that I’ve started to feel extremely tired lately; I’ve been falling asleep in half of my classes. I’m worried because my grades are starting to slip, but if grades are what I have to sacrifice to be beautiful for once in my life, I think that it’s worth it.   
At suppers where I don’t eat, I’ve become really good at cutting up my food into super small pieces so it looks like I ate, moving it around, giving some to the dog, and hiding some of it into my underwear and now socks as well. Mikey has stopped worrying about me altogether, so I must have gotten much better at hiding it.   
In three and a half weeks, with a lot of hunger pangs and exhaustion, I reach 120 pounds. I begin to notice that my collarbones are sticking out, as well as my ribcage to a degree. But I want to keep- no- have to keep losing weight. I just do. I layer my clothes so no one will find out how skinny I’ve gotten. I also change in the stalls in P.E., always wearing a sweatshirt over my P.E. tee. Even though it’s hot as Hell, I can’t risk anyone seeing how much weight I’ve lost. Besides, whenever I’m not moving, I’m freezing most of the time anyways. I’m down to 116, and while I feel horrible, I look amazing.   
My aunt visits that weekend and when she sees me, she gasps. “Gerard, look at you! You’ve lost so much weight! You look incredible!”   
Mikey gives me a worried look, and I force a smile and a bashful “thanks” as my aunt hugs me.   
That night, I’m lying in bed trying to fall asleep when Mikey enters my room. He’s in tears, and stands in my doorway in his pajamas, sniffling.   
“Mikes?” I ask, concerned. “What’s the matter?”  
“You said you’d start eating again,” Mikey sobs.   
I pat the extra space on my bed for Mikey to come sit down, and he does. I inform, “Look, I’ve been eating, okay? Don’t worry about me. I just….” I look down at Mikey. “I have to lose the weight, Mikes. You don’t understand.”  
Mikey sniffles and questions, “I-I’m worried about you…. So- so… can I sleep with you tonight?”  
I nod, and hold up the covers for Mikey to get under them. He hugs me, and snuggles up to my chest, still crying.   
“You’re… you’re so bony,” Mikey sniffs.   
“I know,” I mumble into his shoulder.  
We fall asleep squished in the one person bed.   
Later that month I’m at school, minding my own business, when I’m called to the guidance counselor, Mr. Chelsea, calls me in. I sit down in his chair, and he smiles at me.  
“Hello, Gerard. How are you?” he asks.  
Well, I’m freezing, I hate myself, and I feel like I’m about to fall over asleep at any moment. “Fine.”  
“Some classmates came to me, of yours, they’re worried about you,” Mr. Chelsea informs.  
“Why?”  
“They think you may have an eating disorder,” he responds. He gestures at the collarbones protruding from my sweater prominently. “I see you’ve lost quite a bit of weight.”  
“I needed to shed some,” I reply honestly, for the first time this whole meeting.  
Mr. Chelsea leans forward. “Gerard, I’m going to take you to the nurse’s. We’re going to weigh you. You don’t have to look at the number if you don’t want to.”  
I shoot up to my feet. “No!” I dart out of the room, sprinting up the stairs, and away from him. I dart into a bathroom stall, holding my knees up to my chest. I begin to cry, tears falling down my raised cheekbones like rain down a window. I gasp for air, and start a coughing fit. I hear a knocking on the door, to see Cassie standing there. Before I can speak, she wraps me in a tight hug. She starts to sob herself, and she squeezes me the tightest I’ve ever been hugged. She kisses me on the cheek and slips a hand up under my many layers of shirts, thumbing my ribcage. She whimpers, and digs her face in between my collarbones.   
“Please, don’t do this to yourself,” she begs. “You’re beautiful, Gerard. You really are.”  
“I’m… I’m so sorry,” I weep. “I don’t know if I can stop anymore. Even worse….” I drop my voice to the best whisper I can manage. “I don’t want to stop.”  
“And that’s scary,” she says.  
I nod, and cry into her shoulder.   
She kisses me, and takes my head in her hands, making me look at her.   
“You listen to me, Gerard Way. You’re amazing, you’re beautiful, and you can beat this. Don’t let it get the best of you. You’re….” she clutches me close. “I care about you more than myself, okay? Just please, for the love of God, please take care of yourself, Gerard.”  
I swallow and respond honestly, “I’ll try my best.”  
That night, I try to eat at supper. Mikey silently beams at me as he watches me take the first bites of anything besides a salad in over a month. I grin at him, and then hold a hand to my mouth as I run for the toilet.   
I throw up, and it hurts like Hell, since it’s mainly stomach acid and bile. I cough, and crumple to my knees, too weak to get back up. I… my body’s rejecting food. I start to cry, as I finally, with the help of the sink, pull myself to my feet. I limp to my room, and strip myself naked. Bawling, I step on the scale, to see it read: 106.  
“Oh God!” I sob. I look at my reflection in the mirror, and even though the scale says 106, all the mirror reads is “fat”. I look so horrible, I can’t stand to see myself any longer. I punch the mirror, cutting open my hand and shattering it. Sobbing, I fall to the floor, holding my injured hand to my chest and smearing scarlet blood all across it.   
“I’ll never get better,” I weep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, and please comment!
> 
> My writing blog- www.jordan-delyn-writes.tumblr.com (depression warning)  
> My LiveJournal- Jordan_Delyn  
> My Spotify- Jordan Ludwig


	5. Chapter 5

I try to eat again the next day, but I feel physically ill as I force food into my mouth. I give up, slamming down my fork at lunch. I leave, and run into Aaron.   
“G-Gerard,” he stammers. He looks me up and down. “You look… small.”   
“Thanks,” I mutter, using my shoulder to shove past him. I hear him gasp out as my bony shoulder strikes him. I don’t care that it probably hurt, all I care is that I’m actually that skinny. And it makes me feel great.   
At dinner that night, my mom asks,   
“Gerard? Honey? Aren’t you hungry?”  
I push my food around on my plate. “Not really. I felt sick all day.” I’m not lying, either.   
“Please eat, son,” my father begs.   
I glare at him, slamming my silverware down. “I told you! I’m not hungry!” I get up, ramming my chair into the table as I push it in. I storm out to my room, where I lock the door as I strip myself. I step on the scale, to see it read, 103. I’m… I’m almost to 90 pounds.   
I go to the mirror, and notice my ribs sticking out and my shoulders, hips, and collarbones protruding at all awkward angles. I try to pinch some fat on my stomach, but I can’t. There’s no fat left to grab. But I must find a reason to force myself to lose weight, so I instead grab at my flabby thighs.   
So… so fat. Disgusting, really. I suck my gut in even further, and I can see a perfect outline of each rib, and the entire perimeter of my ribcage in whole. I can get that thin. I will get that thin.   
Mikey knocks on my door. I hurry throughout the room, throwing on boxers and a sweat shirt. “Come in!”  
“The door’s locked, Gee,” Mikey reminds.  
“Oh.” I stride up to the door, opening it. Mikey stares down at my legs, so maybe I did lose some weight in them after all.   
“Gerard… you don’t look good,” Mikey admits.   
“I… I’ve been told I look great,” I retort. “Even our aunt said so.”  
“Well, that’s when you were still a healthy weight. But now…” Mikey looks up at me finally. “You’re just skin and bones, Gee.”   
“No, I’m not,” I insist. I pinch the fat on my thighs. “Just look at this!”   
Mikey shakes his head. “You don’t get it.” He glares at me and demands, “Take off your shirt.”  
“What? No!” I reply.  
Mikey takes a step towards me. “Take off your shirt!”  
“No!” I shout.   
Mikey tackles me, easily knocking me to the ground. He kneels on top of me, pinning me to the ground. He grabs the end of my sweat shirt and tries to lift it.   
I grip the end and pull it down as hard as I can, barking, “Get off of me!”  
“NO!” Mikey yells. He removes one of my hands, and tries harder to pull it up.   
I manage to knee him in the gut. Mikey falls off of me, clutching his stomach. I roll him onto his back, and sit on top of him, pinning his wrists to the floor. “HOW DO YOU LIKE IT?!”  
Mikey struggles to get up, but I hold him there. My dad walks in and sees me. He grabs me around the chest and waist, peeling me off of my younger sibling. I kick at him wildly, screaming to be put down. My dad hauls me into the bathroom, locking me in.  
I pound on the door, crying. I scream, “DADDY!”  
“Gerard, baby, you have got to calm down,” my dad pants. “You’re staying in there until you’re ready to talk and act like a human, alright?” He asks Mikey, “What happened?”  
Mikey replies, “I just tried to take his shirt off! He went psycho!”   
“God damn it!” my dad curses. He pounds on the door, telling, “Gerard, you didn’t weigh a thing when I pried you off of your brother. It’s the last straw. We’re calling a therapist, because obviously something’s not right. When you’re calmed down, we’ll talk about it, okay? We’re worried about you, sweet heart. That’s all.”  
“Dad…” I sob. “Don’t send me away, please! I swear I’ll be good!”  
“Gerard, we won’t get rid of you,” my dad assures, some tears in his voice as well. “I promise. We want to help you.”  
“No!” I reply. “You’re… you’re against me! Everyone’s against me!”   
I root through the drawers of the bathroom, searching for something, anything, to make my head stop spinning.   
“Gerard?” my dad asks. He pounds on the door. “GERARD!”  
I find Mikey’s antidepressants, two drugs called Lexapro and Abilify. I down both of the bottles, sticking my face under the faucet and filling my mouth with water. I lean down against the door, and I can hear my dad shouting my name.   
“Gerard! Gerard, don’t do anything hasty!” my dad demands.   
“Too late, dad!” I weep. I smile. “I’m already gone.”   
“Gerard? Gerard! Open this door!” my dad roars.   
I chuckle. “I’ll miss you all.”   
“Gerard! Gerard, I’m begging you, open the door!” my father cries.   
Mikey begins pounding on the door as well, and he sobs, “GERARD! Please, don’t do this! Let us in!”   
Their voices slowly tune out, and are replaced with a faint ringing noise. I grin as my eyes begin to flutter, and I feel myself zone out.   
“Dad, I love you,” I call, hardly able to hear myself. “Mikey, you too.”  
I swallow, and my vision begins to blur. “I’m… I’m sorry. Mikes, can… can you do me a favor?”  
They both stop pounding for a moment. I can barely hear Mikey ask, “What?”   
“Tell mom it’s not her fault,” I respond.  
They begin slamming on the door again with their fists, and static fills my ears as I slide down from my sitting position onto the floor. I vomit onto the floor, retching loudly. Then, I hold my grin as everything turns white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't the last chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

I wake up in the hospital, with my stomach feeling as though it had been rinsed out with hydrochloric acid. I moan, and I notice Mikey sitting on the edge of my bed. He perks up as my eyes open. I groan,   
“Mikey? My…ugh… my stomach hurts.”  
“They pumped your stomach,” Mikey explains. He looks down at the floor. “You know, since you took over thirty pills.”  
“Mikey, I’m sorry,” I apologize.   
Mikey merely scoffs. “Tell that to mom. She’s a wreck.”   
“No! I don’t want her to be!” I cry.  
“Stop crying,” Mikey demands. “Look, if you start eating again, they won’t make you stay. Alright? Just… promise me you won’t do this ever again.”  
I nod. “Please… please don’t tell mom how she was one of the last ones I thought of. I don’t want to put that kind of guilt on her.”  
“Only if you eat again,” Mikey replies.  
“Fine,” I agree.  
“No,” Mikey responds. He crosses his finger over his chest, and adds, “Cross your heart, hope to die.” He then holds his pinky out to me.  
I grin, remembering this childhood promise. I cross my heart and then pinky shake Mikey’s finger. He smiles and pats me on the leg before leaving.  
On the way home, my dad informs, “Gerard, you start therapy next week. You only… you weigh 99 pounds, Gerard. They’d let you stay there but…” he sighs. “Now that your family knows you’re not eating right, we can supervise you. If you drop to 95, you have to stay there. We’ll be weighing you every day.”  
I start to tear up. “You… you don’t trust me?”  
“Oh Gerard, don’t put it like that. We just want to make sure you’re healthy, okay?” my dad replies.  
I nod, biting back my tears. The rest of the ride home is dead silent.   
When I get home I weigh myself, seeing that I have dropped to 98 since they weighed me. It must have been the stomach pumping and the vomiting that spurred the weight loss. Well, if that’s what I have to do…  
I kneel over my toilet, jamming two fingers down the back of my throat. At first all that comes out is a bunch of saliva, so I remove my fingers. I shove them back in, tickling my uvula with my fingers. I gag, and then out comes a stream of vomit. I wipe my mouth, and then ram my fingers back into it, hitting the same spot, and throwing up some more.   
I fall onto my stomach, weakened by so little food in so long. I reach up blindly, flushing the toilet and then shutting the lid. I use the sink to pull myself to my feet, trudging over to my bed and plopping onto it, immediately going into a deep sleep.  
Over the next few weeks, I make sure to wear plenty of layers. Two pairs of boxer briefs, two pairs of jeans, a long sleeved undershirt, a t shirt over that, a sweatshirt over that, and then my huge military coat over all of that. I would be hot; if I was a healthy weight. But because I’m so underweight, I’m freezing all the time. These extra layers make me a bit less cold, but honestly, the only time I’m warm is when I’m in the shower, because I guess it’s impossible to be chilly when you’re being completely covered in hot water.   
One afternoon about two weeks after my suicide attempt, I sit in the lunch room, not eating of course, but drawing. Cassie comes over and stares me down worriedly.  
“Gerard, you’re so pale,” she comments.  
Maybe it’s cause I tried to kill myself about two weeks ago and I haven’t eaten in over three days. “I dunno. Maybe I’m getting a cold.”  
“Must be a Hell of a cold that makes you look like a skeleton,” she mumbles.   
I glare at her, and she puts her hand over mine, assuring, “Gerard, I’m so scared for you. That’s all. My sister, she died, Gerard. Died. From anorexia.”  
My eyes widen. I try to hide my fear by asking calmly, “What killed her? Too underweight?”  
She shakes her head. “Nope. She had a heart attack at age fourteen. Gerard, it fucks up your organs. You can’t keep playing with fire like this.”  
I snatch my hand away, sneering, “Thanks for the concern.”  
I get up, leaving, and she just watches me go. She doesn’t bother to follow me anymore.   
On my way out, Aaron stops me. He says, “Hey, you look like Hell.”  
I scoff, “Thanks, you look great too.”  
“No, seriously, Gerard. You’re cheekbones… they’re all hollow and… your skin’s almost translucent,” he informs.  
I shrug, lying, “I have a cold. No biggie.”  
He grabs my arm, asking, “Gerard, are you okay?”  
I yank my arm back, yelling what I’ve been wanting to get off my chest since the first time Aaron worried about me.   
“WHY DO YOU CARE NOW, AARON?” I demand. “You’ve fucked with me for how long and, I… I have to put my life on the line for you to stop for two seconds?!”   
The entire lunch room is quiet, and everybody’s eyes are on me. A tear drops from my eye, and I choke out,   
“Fuck it!” as I storm out into the bathroom.   
I splash cold water onto my face, and then begin stringing my hands through my hair when the unthinkable happens. A giant clump of hair comes off into my hand. Disgusted, I wrap it in a paper towel and throw it away, only to have some more strands fall out. What’s… what’s happening?   
I have math the next period, and I continue to fall asleep, despite my efforts to stay awake. I can’t concentrate, anyways, my head is spinning and just what’s to rest.   
When I fall asleep the third time, the teacher sighs and asks if I need to see the nurse.   
I could use a nap anyways.  
I sleep in the nurse’s office, and I wake an hour later for my mom to take me home. On the ride home, she asks,  
“What was wrong, sweetie?”   
“I think I have the flu,” I fib.   
My mother nods. “You’re as white as a sheet.”  
I arrive at home and go upstairs as fast as I can which, at my health state, is not very fast. When I reach my room I remove all of my layers of clothing, throwing them in every direction. I stand naked on the scale, and close my eyes as it calculates my weight.  
When I open them, it says in plain letters: 88 pounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter will be up soon! Thanks so much for reading!! Please comment, let me know what you think!
> 
> You can message me or go here: www.these-ghouls-will-scare-me.tumblr.com to give me Frerard prompts! (storylines or ideas you'd like to see me write). I also accept Destiel, Phan, Cockles, and Peterick.


	7. Finale

I go to bed that night, thankful to be so thin, but just so scared that I’ll do something stupid and fuck it all up. I toss and turn for about an hour before finally falling asleep.  
When I wake up, the first thing I see is Mikey screaming. I look down at myself to see my body exposed, and now is the first time I realize what I’ve done to myself.   
My ribcage, exposed and bare, with every rib outlined, protrudes hideously from my stomach. My collarbones are like crowbars trying to pry themselves from my body, and my hips like two giant hills, lifted so high that they actually raise my boxers off of my stomach enough so that I can see down them.   
I yank my comforter over myself, and my mom runs in at the same time. She looks at me warily, and then turns to Mikey instead, asking,  
“Baby? Why were you screaming?”  
Mikey points a shaking finger to me, and whispers, “He looks like a skeleton, mom!”  
I get driven to the hospital, and on the way there, Mikey tries to make me eat. He shoves some toast down my throat, but I soon throw it up.   
“Mom, does he have the flu?” Mikey asks. “He can’t hold anything down!”  
“His body’s rejecting food because he hasn’t eaten in so long,” Mom explains. “Gerard, honey, when was the last time you ate?”  
“I….I….” I gag as I throw up some more. “I can’t remember.”  
My mom swears under her breath and begins to speed towards the hospital.   
“M-mommy?” I question. “I’m… I’m sorry.”  
She reaches a hand back, taking mine and assuring, “Don’t be, sweetie.”  
Mikey holds me close as he pleads, "Please don't die, Gerard."  
I get weighed at the hospital, and I come in at a staggering 87 pounds. The hospital immediately feeds me through a tube, since my body is still refusing to hold down any food. I’m told that I have to stay until I reach 100 pounds, and then, I will come in for weekly checkups to monitor how well I’m eating.   
I’m crying in my hospital bed that day, because, I have to GAIN weight just to get out of this Hell of a place. Mikey then comes in, sitting next to me.   
“You know Gerard, you….” Mikey looks up at me and straightens his glasses. “You kind of brought this on yourself.”  
I punch Mikey in the face, sending him flying back and rolling off onto the floor. He moans on the ground, pulling off his glasses, which lenses are completely shattered. He slowly pulls himself to his feet, and growls,   
“If I didn’t know how fucked up you were right now, I’d kick your ass.”  
He then leaves, rubbing his neck.   
I begin to cry even harder. I nearly knocked out my baby brother, for fuck’s sake! God, what’s happening to me?!  
A lady comes into the room, sitting herself down on my bed. “Hello Gerard. I’m Mrs. Coleman.”  
I sniffle, and then continue to sob.   
“Gerard, if you could calm down, so I can talk to you. Take deep breaths.”  
I do as she says, and gradually begin to calm down.  
“That’s it. Just breathe for me, honey.”  
Once I’m breathing steady, she smiles at me.   
“That’s good. How are you feeling?”   
I scoff. “Like shit. I just delivered a knockout punch to my baby sibling because he told me all of this is my fault, so you know, not the best.”  
“What’d he say?” she asks.  
“W-wait, will this cost anything extra? I really don’t know if my family can pay for-” I begin.  
“It’s okay, Gerard,” she assures. “I just want you to worry about yourself right now, can you do that for me?”  
I bite my lip and nod.   
“What’d he say?” she repeats.   
“He… he told me that I brought this on myself,” I reply.  
“Do you believe that?” she asks.  
“No… maybe… I don’t know!” I cry. I begin to weep again.  
She writes something down, and then informs, “It was nice meeting you Gerard. I look forward to talking with you more.” With that, she gets up and leaves.   
In a few days my body is accepting food, so they finally take the fucking tube out. They make me eat normal portion sizes for someone my age, and eat it all, and my stomach has shrunk to the point where it’s actually painful to eat all of every meal. Within two weeks, I’m up to 100 pounds. I go in to see my therapist, and mostly just sit there for the hour trying to avoid talking as much as possible. Mikey doesn’t talk to me much anymore; I gave him a black eye when I punched him. On the plus side, Cassie is really enthusiastic about me getting better, and Aaron has started bullying me again, so I guess he’s not worried anymore. I look at myself in the mirror now, ugly bones sticking out in awkward places, and only one thing comes to mind.  
Why the fuck did I ever let this happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading this fic! Check out some of my others! Suggested reading: Young And Screwed Up.
> 
> My blog- www.these-ghouls-will-scare-me.tumblr.com  
> My fanfiction blog- www.frerard-is-the-weapon.tumblr.com  
> 


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